For three days and three nights this waiting-game went on.

"How long can a fox go without food or water?" Boggis asked on the third day.

"Not much longer now," Bean told him. "Hell make a run for it soon. He'll have to."

Bean was right. Down in the tunnel the foxes were slowly but surely starving to death.

"If only we could have just a tiny sip of water," said one of the Small Foxes. "Oh, Dad, can't you do something?"

"Couldn't we make a dash for it, Dad? We'd have a little bit of a chance, wouldn't we?"

"No chance at all," snapped Mrs. Fox. "I refuse to

let you go up there and face those guns. I'd sooner you stay down here and die in peace."

Mr. Fox had not spoken for a long time. He had been sitting quite still, his eyes closed, not even hearing what the others were saying. Mrs. Fox knew that he was trying desperately to think of a way out. And now, as she looked at him, she saw him stir himself and get slowly to his feet. He looked back at his wife. There was a little spark of excitement dancing in his eyes.

"What is it, darling?" said Mrs. Fox quickly.

"I've just had a bit of an idea," Mr. Fox said carefully.

"What?" they cried. "Oh, Dad, what is it?"

"Come on!" said Mrs. Fox. "Tell us quickly!"

"Well. ." said Mr. Fox, then he stopped and sighed and sadly shook his head. He sat down again. "It's no good," he said. "It won't work after all."